The glimmer of hope that one day Lance would change had long since gone. This was what she was facing for the rest of her life. Most evenings Lance had to be helped from his car by Martin. He didn’t even stay awake long enough to eat dinner with her. She always waited for him and then invariably ended up eating alone. He’d sleep on the sofa until eleven o’clock, when she’d turn off the television. Sometimes, she’d rouse him and take him to bed. Other evenings, when it was clear that he was out for the count, she’d put a throw over him, leave him where he was and go upstairs alone. If he was particularly bad, she’d sleep in the armchair next to him.
Whichever way, he’d still be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. It was staggering.
What was she to do? How could she leave Lance now? She was inching nearer to sixty every day. She’d given up a damn good career for Lance. How could she resume it this late in life? Who would want her? She hadn’t ever lived entirely alone since her twenties, and she had to admit it was a frightening prospect.
The only things that made it tolerable living with Lance were her affairs. Yet it was getting harder to turn heads. She could Botox up to her eyeballs, but there was no denying that she was no longer a spring chicken. She knew Tyler had only started their fling because he felt she could supply him with information. Of course he had: powerful men all wanted women who were twenty years younger than her. It was only afterwards that it had blossomed into something else.
But it still wasn’t enough to sustain her. She had no money in the bank. No life to call her own. And Lance needed her. These days he could barely function without her. She’d become his nursemaid, not his wife. How he managed to run Fossil Oil, goodness only knew. It was mostly down to Tyler holding it all together, and her advising Lance in the background. Yet she knew that Tyler had Lance’s job in his sights and one day he’d lose patience, turn coat and snatch it for himself.
Moments later, Tyler returned with a pot of coffee and a cup. He squatted down next to her. ‘Let’s get some of this down him.’
‘OK.’ She poured some coffee into the cup while Tyler watched hopefully. ‘Hey, honey,’ she cooed at her husband. ‘Why don’t you try some of this? Tyler very kindly brought it for you.’
Lance raised red-rimmed eyes to her face. They barely seemed to focus. ‘You think I’m drunk, don’t you?’
‘The thought never crossed my mind, sweetie.’
‘I think I might have had one over the eight,’ he confessed candidly.
She thought he might have had one over the eighteen, and wondered if the news from Bud Harman was troubling him more than he’d admitted.
Melissa held out the cup for him. ‘You know you’ve got to give your speech in a minute.’
‘I don’t want any coffee,’ Lance stated truculently.
Melissa sighed. Why did drunks revert to belligerent behaviour patterns more suited to five-year-olds?
‘I think you do want some coffee, honey,’ she said encouragingly. ‘It’ll do you good.’
‘I can do it myself.’ Lance brushed her hand away and in doing so knocked the cup, which sailed out of her hand and hit Tyler mid-flight. The liquid splattered all over his shirt and the cup clattered to the floor.
‘I don’t believe it.’ Tyler glanced down at the brown stain on his shirt and rolled his eyes to heaven. He didn’t even try to mop it up.
She looked round for yet another Merry Christmas to One and All napkin, but could see none.
‘If we can’t get him on within the next ten minutes then that’s it. The rest of the staff will be too far gone to listen anyway. They’re hammering the free bar. This is a total disaster.’
Melissa calmly picked up the coffee pot and the cup again. She brushed the carpet fluff from the rim and poured the thick black liquid into it. ‘He’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Just fine.’
Chapter Eighteen
Tyler helped to support his chairman as he stood. ‘Better get this over with, Lance. Time to go on stage.’ He glanced at his Fossil Oil Corporation watch and noted that it was getting late in the evening. Already this felt like the longest night of his life. ‘No need to labour the point. Just a quick pat on the back for everyone. Rally the troops. Onwards and upwards for next year. Blah, blah. That should do it.’
Lance, bleary-eyed and red-faced, nodded his consent.
The sooner this was over with, the better. Hopefully he could then snatch five minutes alone with Melissa to find out what else she knew about the plans afoot at the company. After that, he’d make sure they were both packed off home. Only then could he return his full attention to his wife.
‘Will he be all right?’ Melissa whispered to him.
Despite her assurances of a few moments ago, she looked more than a little concerned too.
‘I have no fucking idea,’ he hissed back. ‘Just start praying.’
As they went to climb the steps to the back of the stage, Lance stumbled. Tyler put out his hands to catch him. This was worse than he thought. What sort of speech was Lance going to give in this state?
‘Look, Lance, why don’t I just say a few words?’ Tyler suggested amiably. ‘You can sit here and have another coffee.’
‘I don’t want another coffee,’ Lance complained. ‘I want some bourbon.’ His eyes searched for Melissa. ‘Get me a bottle of Jack, honey.’
‘We can get all the staff together in the new year. You can fill me in about what’s going on,’ Tyler continued pointedly. ‘We can do a big ta-da then. Why don’t I pop on stage instead and say thanks for coming and have a very merry Christmas and a happy new year? That’s all I need to do, nothing more. You can toddle off and have another drink.’
‘I need to do this now,’ Lance insisted.
On stage, the band were coming to the end of Slade’s ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’. The staff were in high spirits, though none of them quite so high as the chairman. They were jumping around, punching the air, clearly celebrating what had been a good year for Fossil Oil. He hated to interrupt their fun, but these things had to be done. It was the Christmas party after all, and it wouldn’t hurt to remind them who was paying for this little jolly.
Tyler signalled to the band leader that he wanted to wheel Lance on stage.
‘Thank you, guys!’ the lead singer shouted out. ‘We’ll be taking a short break, but we’ll be back later with another selection of top chart hits!’
There was rapturous applause and much whistling from the easily pleased crowd as the tinsel-tongued crooner strutted off the stage as if he’d been performing at Wembley Stadium.
With unaccustomed nerves, Tyler took the microphone. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. The chairman of Fossil Oil, Mr Lancelot Harvey, would like to say a few words.’
Tyler led the half-hearted applause while people drifted back to their seats, irritated by the unwelcome interruption to their dancing. Reluctantly, and with a silent prayer for God’s mercy, he gave the microphone to Lance.
The chairman stepped forward. He looked for all the world like a has-been cabaret compère – reduced to a squalid life of working men’s clubs, introducing unfunny comedians and second-rate magicians whose tricks didn’t work. Yet he was the head of a world-class company. How was it that Lance was still running the show instead of him? Tyler wondered idly whether Lance had some dirt on Bud Harman. It had to be something really mucky. There must, at the very least, be photographs of him in a gimp mask. Otherwise, how else would he keep his job?
If Tyler hadn’t been on show, he’d have put his head in his hands. He’d never been squeamish before but he certainly didn’t have the stomach to watch this. He could only hope that Lance rose to the occasion. God knew, by some divine intervention, he usually managed to.
‘Merry Christmas, everybody!’ Lance called out.
The staff applauded thunderously. There was whistling and shouts of ‘Woo!’
‘I hope you’ve been enjoying tonight’s party and all the lovely free drink. I know I have!’ Lance
laughed jovially.
This was going to be all right, Tyler thought with a rush of relief. He was going to get through it.
‘You’re the best employees a company could ever have!’ The chairman smiled and soaked up the appreciation. ‘Fossil Oil has reported a profit of seventeen billion pounds this year.’
A cheer went up and there was rapturous applause.
Before it died down, Lance added, ‘And it’s all because of you!’
Foot-stamping now! Tyler laughed. Why had he ever worried? This was Lance’s forte. Keeping up staff morale was when Lance came into his own. He turned on the charm and everyone melted before it. He had an incredible charisma about him. Tyler could still learn a thing or two from him. Wily old dog!
He glanced back at Melissa and she too looked relieved. She’d joined him at the back of the stage and passed him a glass of champagne. Tyler swigged heartily from it. That had been a close call. Everyone at Fossil knew that Lance liked a drink, it was the worst-kept secret. But no one really knew the extent.
Lance went to toast them before realising that, for once, his hand was missing a glass. A look of momentary confusion crossed his face.
‘Here you go, Lance.’ Tyler quickly stepped forward and handed him his own drink.
‘Is everyone’s glass charged?’ Lance raised his glass high. ‘To Fossil Oil.’
The staff, one and all, echoed his move and called out, ‘To Fossil Oil!’
It was quite a moving moment, Tyler thought. This was a great business to be in. Trading conditions were tough and getting tougher all the time. The global economic downturn was no one’s idea of fun. But, in his department, they were weathering the storms. Just about. Due in no small measure to his own efforts. He hoped he’d be duly rewarded next year.
‘That was great, Lance,’ Tyler whispered in his ear. ‘Just right.’
‘I’m not done yet.’ Lance turned a disdainful eye on him and Tyler rocked back.
Lance held up his hand and the staff quietened down.
‘However!’ he boomed, fully in his stride now. ‘That’s seven per cent down on last year. Seven per cent.’ He looked as if he could scarcely believe it. ‘The ravenous exploitation of shale gas, particularly in the USA, has hit revenues hard. So, unfortunately, that means we will have to implement some minor belt-tightening. Like every business, we have to have an eye to economies. We have to be a lean organisation. There must be no waste. No excess.’
Tyler glanced uncomfortably at their surroundings, at the party they’d thrown this evening. No excess? They could have just given everyone a free Christmas dinner in the staff canteen. He did a quick calculation. There’d certainly be no change out of a hundred grand for this bash alone.
‘Bud Harman, global chief executive president of Fossil Oil, has decreed there will be cutbacks.’ Lance shook his head sadly. ‘So cutbacks there will be.’
Now there was an uneasy shuffling among the crowd. They didn’t like the sound of this any more than Tyler did.
‘Bud is implementing a new programme of radical economies, starting with the introduction of SACKED. Staff Assessment Criteria and Key Employee Development.’
The staff had been stunned into silence now and Tyler discreetly covered his eyes with one hand. SACKED? SACKED? You couldn’t make it up. What the hell was it anyway? He didn’t know, but it sounded like it had Bud Harman’s mucky fingerprints all over it. He’d had no inkling that this was coming. Nothing at all. Why hadn’t Lance told him?
Lance ploughed on, unheeding of the deadly hush that had fallen on the entire room.
‘There are currently five hundred and fifty staff alone in our British affiliate at Fossil House. Introducing the SACKED initiative will cut our staff numbers by one hundred.’
There was an audible and horrified gasp from the assembled staff. Not surprisingly. Tyler thought one might have come from him too. He spun round to look at Melissa. Hadn’t she had any idea about what was going on? He’d thought she’d be a reliable source of information. But it was clear from her face that she wasn’t a party to this.
When he risked glancing at the staff again, most of them seemed to have lapsed into a catatonic trance.
Lance held up his hand and shook his head sympathetically. ‘I know that will come as a terrible shock to many of you. Well, to all of you. I found out myself only this morning. But times are hard and we must all share the pain.’
A discontented rumble began as people started to express their disbelief. Tyler, as dumbfounded as everyone else, risked peeping out from between his fingers. He wasn’t generally known for his empathy, but it was hard to look at the stricken faces in front of him and not want the ground to open up and swallow him.
‘We will be issuing redundancy notices in January. As soon as the office opens again.’ Lance, thank heavens, was winding up. ‘For the staff who remain, it will be onwards and upwards for the new year. For the rest of you, I wish you all the very best for the future.’
What would it mean for him? Tyler wondered. Surely his own future at Fossil was assured? He needed to talk to Lance, but it was pointless while he was so drunk. He’d never remember what had been said in the morning. His next best bet was Melissa, and now he definitely needed to get her on her own as soon as possible.
‘All that remains for me to do is to thank you all for coming this evening and to wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy new year,’ Lance concluded joyfully. ‘Enjoy the rest of the party. Have a few drinks. Dance. The night is still young!’
Tyler was aghast. Lance’s sincerity was truly touching.
Lance replaced the microphone and weaved off the stage.
There was an unearthly quiet, and a sea of white, openmouthed faces, frozen rigid with shock, stared disbelievingly after their departing chairman.
As he half fell down the steps, Lance made a lurch for the bourbon bottle that Melissa was now holding. But Tyler was there first and snatched it from his reach.
Lance, unperturbed, rubbed his hands together and smiled. ‘I thought that went well.’
On the stage, the lead singer of the band bounded back to the microphone. ‘Are we going to party?’ he shouted. The band launched into ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’.
The staff, as one, turned and bolted as fast as they could for the free bar.
Tyler put the bottle of bourbon to his lips and tipped the burning amber liquid straight down his throat.
Chapter Nineteen
Josh and I finally get to the front of the queue at the bar. ‘Champagne, please,’ I say when he asks me what I’d like to drink.
With a bit more pushing and shoving, he gets a glass of fizz for me and a Coke for himself. Then we stand and look at each other in a slightly dazed manner, both shocked after the chairman’s bombshell.
‘Well,’ Josh says, perplexed. ‘That was a bit of a bolt from the blue.’
‘Completely unexpected. I don’t think Tyler knew anything about it either, from the look on his face.’
I know he won’t be happy about that. My boss likes to think he’s got his finger on the pulse.
‘I hadn’t heard a whisper either. As far as I knew all was well. I thought the announcement was going to be something good for the employees.’ Josh shakes his head. ‘I can’t even get drunk. I couldn’t do my job without a car, so I gave up alcohol years ago. But, right this moment, I’ve never felt more like downing a double brandy.’
‘Me too.’ If this is going to be my first and possibly last Christmas party with Fossil Oil, I’m going to make sure that I make the most of it. And currently that translates into joining the fray and drinking a lot of free booze. It seems as if most of the staff have come up with the same idea. And who can blame them? Like me, they probably thought their jobs were as safe as could be.
How will they decide who’ll go and who’ll stay? As one of the last to join the company, will I be the first to be shown the door?
‘I’m worried now,’ I admit. With
having a decent salary, I was starting to make good inroads into my debts. I pay very little to Mum and Dad – at their insistence – so that I can use most of my salary to clear the outstanding mortgage. That could all crumble about my ears. With the sweep of a corporate arm, I could be right back where I started. ‘I thought I was going to make my career at Fossil. Who knows what’ll happen now?’
‘No doubt we’ll find out soon enough.’
‘How can a rich organisation like Fossil treat its staff so shabbily? It’s Christmas, for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t they have waited until January to tell us? At least then people could have enjoyed Christmas without worrying.’
The festive season will be spoiled by having this axe hanging over our heads. I’m quietly seething inside.
‘It’s the way of the world now.’
‘Well, it isn’t right,’ I grumble.
The dance floor is full again and the band is playing a raft of wholly inappropriate cheery Christmas songs. They seem to be oblivious, and no one else really seems to mind either.
There’s a strange air of abandonment among the staff. At the bar, the drinks are going down at a rate of knots. Normally staid members of staff appear to be exhibiting a wild recklessness that there’d been no sign of just a few moments ago.
‘If it’s any comfort, I’m sure we’ll be safe,’ Josh says. He has to lean closer for me to be able to hear him as the band is playing louder and louder. ‘There are a lot more people with their heads on the chopping block ahead of us.’
‘I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.’ But I do know that my heart is in my boots.
I glance up, in time to see Karen from Customer Accounts jump on to the stage. She wrests the tambourine from one of the backing singers and shimmies across the front of the stage, banging it against her bottom.
‘All I want for Christmas is you,’ she shouts out. She wiggles her bottom and points to various people in the audience. ‘You, you, you!’